God Loves You, Even in Maycember

Several years ago, Jen Hatmaker‘s Worst End of School Year Mom Ever made the rounds, describing the desperate limp toward the finish line that many parents experience. More recently, the Holderness family produced a video about “Maycember,” illustrating the feeling that parents have at this time of year – just as busy as Christmas, without the lights and the peppy music. As the parent of two elementary-school-aged children, both of these pieces resonate with me deeply and make me laugh loudly. I imagine that teachers feel about the same way by the time May rolls around.

Last week, when there were exactly nine days of school left, my fifth grader came home and told us that he’d need to bring in $50 worth of special markers. (And let’s be real, the fifth graders aren’t doing anything marker-worthy for those last four days.) I ordered them (thanks, Amazon next-day delivery!), but I’ll admit it was with a little more grumbling under my breath than there would have been in August or September.

Fabulous example of an August or September lunch.

At our house, August or September Mom packs great lunches and scratches a very satisfying self-righteous itch by filling out dozens of forms and sending in extra boxes of tissues. Beginning-of-school-year kids have fresh haircuts and bright, shining new shoes. By May, though, we all look like we’ve been camping in a parking lot for a few weeks, and the only forms we’re interested in completing are the ones that might get us out of doing something. I have felt this especially keenly since I started working in higher education a few years ago. The college students all graduate in mid-May at my institution, and it’s a little bit rude when I come home and the kids still need field trip permission slips the next Monday morning. “Why are you still going to school?” I want to ask them. “Aren’t we done?”

Some of you miss this stage, and will tell me to enjoy every moment, because it all goes so fast. I know. My fifth grader can almost look me in the eyes when we stand next to one another, and I’m 5’9″. I know. If you’re feeling nostalgic, pick up a bag of baby carrots and bring them over at 6:30 am, and fold some laundry while you’re here. I welcome your nostalgia for these times.

Maybe you’re a current parent of school-aged kids and don’t feel weary right now – you might pace yourself more evenly throughout the year and take your vitamins with plenty of water, so that your energy is sustained throughout the school year. I’m genuinely impressed.

I think that most of us who are in this stage, though, feel a little weary by the last few weeks of school. Most of us who spend any time with children realize how fallible we are in about five minutes. And that weariness is almost a welcome relief to me. At the beginning of the school year, I feel like the mom that I imagined myself to be before I had children. My ducks are in a row, and my robotic vacuum is on a schedule. Everyone flosses regularly. In moments like that, I feel very good about myself, but I also feel dangerously self-righteous, as if I don’t need any help.

The truth is, for me anyway, that I do need help. Desperately so. When the shoes are a bit scuffed and the lunch boxes smell like the prodigal son, I am keenly aware of my need for mercy. I don’t think God loves me any more or any less in August or in May, but I’m certainly more aware of my need for his forgiveness, and for his grace to be echoed by those around me, when everything feels like it’s falling apart. The end of the school year is one of those times when everything feels like it’s falling apart. The good and bad news is that we get to do it all again in a few months.

“If you’re feeling nostalgic, pick up a bag of baby carrots and bring them over at 6:30 am, and fold some laundry while you’re here. I welcome your nostalgia for these times.” PREEEEAACH. In New England, we run a bit behind, so I’m marking this to reread in about 3 weeks when we are there <3 Thank you!